Watching over you
by infiniteworld8
Summary: After a hunt that goes wrong, while watching over a feverish Sam, Dean seriously considers what consequences his deal with the Yellow eyed demon will have on his younger brother. Sam considers Dean's deal to save him and what he is willing to do to save his brother. Two/Shot. Set during Season three.
1. Dean

_Hellhounds: Spectral dogs of the deep. Their cursed baying is the last earthly sound that many doomed souls hear before they are dragged into Hell. There mere appearance is enough to frighten many to death and if that isn't enough they will often maul and rip apart their victims limb from limb. To those who can't see the menacing apparitions it often appears to them like the person is being attacked by someone as the human mind implants images to explain the unknown. The hounds will chase their victim for days before finally closing in, some say to—_

Dean slammed the lap top shut and swore softly underneath his breath. His hands were shaking and as much as he tried to convince himself it was from all the liquor he had consumed, he knew that wasn't the case. He was scared—that was all there was to it. He didn't want to go to hell. When he had made the deal with the crossroads demon it had been without a thought for himself. All he had thought about was saving Sam. It there was any way that he could change it, his baby brother who had always looked up to him, couldn't—wouldn't die –at least not permanently. After all Sam's death was his fault..

Maybe if he_ had_ watched over Sam a little better and came to that cursed town a little faster, he wouldn't have had to watch as his brother was stabbed from behind or hold him in his arms as his body slackened as his unfocused eyes stared at him and then glazed over. Maybe if he _hadn't_ watched over Sam so much, the kid would have grown up a little tougher and been less nice. Maybe then he would have killed that bastard Jake Talley like the man deserved and then he wouldn't have had an opportunity to kill him.

Never mind, that Sam killing Talley would have lead to Sam becoming the leader of some Demon army; at least he would have been alive.

Dean turned to stare at Sam who was lying curled up under a heap of blankets breathing heavily. He was dead asleep but even so Dean recognized the lines in his face from worry. He saw the way Sam clutched his arms around his pillow, which was something he only did when something was seriously disturbing him. And it was something he had been doing a lot lately.

Dean knew that it was hard on Sam, first Dean almost dying, then their father dying as he made a pact to save Dean. Then Sam dying himself and having his brother make a pact to go to hell in exchange for Sam's life and one last year with him. He knew his brother had been staying up late into the evening night after night, trying to find a way to break the deal and redeem Dean's soul. While Dean had been trying to drink his troubles away and ignore the fact that there was no way the deal could be broken and Sam's life not be forfeit.

Dean knew Sam had been driving himself crazy trying to hold it together and all the time struggling single-handedly to find the answer that would save Dean's soul and figure out why his brother seemed not to care, that he was about to be a eternal barbecue. Dean knew it was his fault that Sam had been  
so tired from staying up late and pure exhaustion that the possessed woman and the ghost had gotten the jump on him. It was his fault Sam had been chained in a well for hours by the time Dean found him.

Dean had been too tied up in trying desperately to forget how little time he had left and how scared he actually was of where he was going when that time finally ran out. Hell, held even more ferar for him than it probably did for most others. To other people it was an abstract concept, to him it was a very real reality with some inhabitants that he knew would be waiting for his arrival and the chance to even the score. But still , even with all his problems that didn't give him the excuse to ignore Sam. Because even as he had only a few months to get ready (as if anybody could be) for hell, he had those same months to try and get his brother even a little prepared for a world without him and so far he had been doing a piss-poor job.

Sam was half-drowned and on top of that had a cold which he had before the incident but had tried to keep from Dean not wanting to bother his brother, with his own problems when Dean had the biggest problem of all: Going to hell in only a few months. Dean watched as Sam shifted restlessly in his sleep and coughed before groaning and rolling over. He saw the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and the flushed look to his skin and knew he had a fever, but Dean didn't move.

It was never supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to take care of Sam that had been his one mission in life. Given to him first by his father and then accepted entirely by him. Sam was his life, and so he couldn't live without him, even if that meant sacrificing himself, it was worth it. His father had died to save him and he still felt guilty about that but in some odd way this he felt was his penance for that. The yellow-eyed Demon had been right. Sam and his father might not need him, but he couldn't live without them. Especially not without Sam. He knew it was selfish but if someone had to die out of the two of them it would be him, hands down—no hesitation.

He remembered his father had told him that if he couldn't save Sam then he had to kill him. He could never have done that, no matter what Sam did. Even if Sam had become the antichrist or whatever the hell he was supposed to be, even if Sam had enslaved all of humanity and brought the entire inhabitants of hell to Earth, there was no way he could waste his own brother.

So it was probably better this way. Sam died, but he came back. His soul was intact, and he hadn't become whatever the yellow-eyed demon had wanted him to become, and Dean was glad. Because Sam was still Sam. Sam was his brother who had a conscience. Hell, he was Dean's conscience. He was the one who agonized over whether they should kill something; he was the one who regretted when they had too. He was the one who didn't get even a thrill of pleasure from the killing they had to do to save others. He knew his brother wasn't aware but many times over the years he had heard him, late at night after he thought Dean was asleep asking God for forgiveness for what they had done and agonizing if it was the right thing. He had seen him bent over shaggy hair in his face, on his knees , his silhouette outlined by moonlight, praying for him—Dean. He didn't know how Sam even believed in God after all they had been through—he didn't believe himself. But Sam had always been different than him, different then even their father. That was Sam, right down to the Lentil burger's, bad new rock music, and bookish behaviour—he truly cared. And that was something he never wanted his brother to lose.

If he had to die but his brother was alive and still himself then it was worth it because he cared about him more than he did himself.

Dean straightened up and drained the last dregs from his bottle. He knew he shouldn't drink anymore, but what did it matter. A hangover in the morning, a little liver damage, it was a moot point when Hell was just a short while away. He walked across their tiny motel room and crossed to the bathroom, he flicked on the shaky light and filled a slightly grimy glass with water and grabbed two Tylenol from his duffel bag which was lying outside the floor. Then he went back to Sam who was now tossing in the throes of some nightmare.

Dean nearly spilled the glass of water as he heard his own name come from Sam's lips and saw the panicked look on his face. He forced himself not to imagine what images were torturing his little brother and instead shook his shoulder. "Hey, Sam, wake up man, you got a fever and you need to drink something." Sam shifted restlessly but didn't awake. Dean pressed the back of his hand to his brother's skin and felt the heat emanating from his sweat-slickened forehead. "Come on, Sammy wake up." He shook him again harder this time and was awarded with Sam gasping and his eyes flying open.

They were filled with pure panic for a second and then as soon as Sam saw Dean, he struggled to sit up. He was gasping in between coughs "Dean, we gotta go—they're coming, B-bobby has something—that'll hold them off and—" He broke off as a spasm of coughing flitted through his body.

Dean wondered what hunt or hunts he was remembering remnants from that were haunting his delirious mind. But he put that aside as he waited till Sam had stopped coughing and then tried to force the glass of water to his lips."Sam you need to—"

Sam pushed away the glass of water causing it to slop onto them both. "Dean we got—gotta go! They're coming for you."

Sam struggled to sit up farther and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Dean pushed him back down with one arm.

"Dean please—we have to go'" Sam was practically begging as he weakly pushed against Dean's restraining arm. "Please, they're coming"

Dean stared uncertainly at Sam's feverish face and met his clearly panicked eyes. Sure, Sam was most likely sick but Dean couldn't forget that his brother often had visions too and maybe this was one of those times. "Who is Sammy?"

Sam's next words sent a cold shiver down his spine. "The Hellhounds Dean—they're coming and I'm not going to let them take you—I'm not—I'm not."

He kept repeating the last words over and over and if Dean wasn't sure that Sam was out of his mind with fever and he himself wasn't too shocked by his words he would have said one of his patented jokes about Sam watching too many chick flicks. Because he would have liked to convince himself that the liquid now trickling down his brother's face was nothing more than sweat. And the noises he was making that sounded suspiciously like sobs was just Sam trying to catch his breath after coughing.

Instead he swallowed sharply trying not to think about what Sam said. He forced himself not to think that in a few months it would be true. "Calm down Sammy, they're not coming for me now, okay? We've got a few months."

Sam looked like he didn't believe him, but after a few more assurances by Dean he finally settled down enough to swallow a few sips of water and the Tylenol and then fell back into a fitful sleep. Dean sat in a chair staring at Sam, ostentatiously in his mind, because practically somebody needed to keep an eye on Sam when he was like this. Fever's made Sam nauseated and Dean couldn't count the time he had awakened as a kid to find his brother face down in his own sick, perilously close to a very undignified end. He didn't acknowledge to himself that the main reason he was watching Sam was because they had so very little time left and sleeping for Dean felt like a waste. He'd rather spend all of his last months with Sam, even if Sam was too out of it right now to know he was there.

/O\

Towards morning Sam's fever broke and Dean continued sitting there in his silent vigil.

He first inkling that Sam was feeling better was when he turned over and stared at him before rasping in a croaky voice. "Dude, did you sit there all night?"

"Yeah,"

"Why?"

"Because, you were sick and I was making sure you were okay."

Sam looked guilty. "Dean, you should have got some rest, I'm fine, I just had a cold. You didn't have to stay up all night looming over me like Sasquatch"

Dean rubbed the sore muscles in his neck and glanced at his brother. "Yes, I did. That's my job to watch over you." He stood up and stretched his legs and then glanced back at his brother and allowed his face to break into an unfelt smile for Sam's benefit and his lightly joked. "And the only one with a resemblance to Sasquatch is you, now come on big foot let's get some breakfast."

Dean walked toward the bathroom, to take a shower, behind him he heard Sam stirring as he got up. The smile dropped off his face as he remembered what Sam had said that night. It was a reminder, his time was fast approaching. The days where he could be there for his brother were coming to an end. And strangely the one thing he was most scared about wasn't eternal torture in the pits of hell. He was most scared about what would happen with Sam.

Who would watch over him when he was gone?

* * *

_So yes, my first Supernatural fic! Hope the characters were IC. I typed this up in about 45 minutes late at night and then did a spot of proofreading, hope it turned out okay. Thanks and as always feedback is welcome._


	2. Sam

_So this felt a little lopsided with this story only a one-shot of Dean so I added Sam...Hope you like it._

* * *

_"You sure you ready for this boy? There's no turning back once you do it. No back outs, no final deals, consider this the last reprieve for you Winchesters." The yellowed-eyed demon leaned closer, his warm breath tickling Sam's ear. "You really ready for an eternity with me Sammy?"_

_Sam gritted his teeth, he wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands. He was shaking with barely concealed rage and maybe a—hint of fear. His voice held barely concealed anger. "Only Dean calls me Sammy, not you."_

_"I can call you what I want Sammy, Sam-boy, b—ch for eternity it's really just semantics you're mine, body..." the demon leaned even closer and took a deep breath like he was inhaling Sam's scent, before he whispered. "And soul."_

_Sam stepped away from the demon, eliciting a laugh from the yellow-eyed creature. "So let's get started I've got a lot of work for you Sammy, lots...a world to destroy demons to rise up...a war to wage...It's time to join the dark side."_

_The leering circles of Demons around him responded with cheers at the yellow-eyed demons words like humans at the Super bowl. Sam stared around at the possed humans that surrounded him all had eyes gleaming with the demons they inhabited and fresh blood dripping down their hands from the humans they had just sacrificed. _

_"No." Sam didn't mean for the word to trickle out, but the repugnance he felt at the demons and what was in store for him begged for release. He didn't want to become like them, he couldn't he would have rather died...except that wasn't an option now._

_"What do you mean No Sammy; don't tell me you're having second thoughts." _

_"I'm not, I'm not doing this."_

_There was rustling as the crowd of demons quieted and they edged closer tightening the circle around him. There was a decided change in the air. Sam saw one of the demons near the edge of the group fingering a knife and knew that even though the yellow-eyed demon had plans for him all the other demons weren't exactly in favour of the idea. He couldn't begin to guess how many demons he had taken down over his short life and many of them were probably more than eager to repay the favour ten times over._

_Sam glanced around then turned to face the yellow-eyed demon. "I don't want this, I've changed—" _

_"You've changed your mind? The deals off? Was that what you were about to say? Because if it was I want you to think carefully." Sam suddenly found himself rooted to the floor as the demon Azazel moved closer. "I want you to think about Dean, good ol' Dean who was—is willing to go into hell and spend some nice time getting to know my folks, to save you Sam."_

_Sam could still speak even though his limbs were immobile, but he was quiet as the demon spoke._

_"Dean loves you a lot, he really does. You've have to do something like that, but you see he doesn't really know. Hell is hell. Imagine the skin ripped off your body, imagine being burned alive, imagine being eaten alive, ripped apart, every nightmare you ever had come true, imagine despair so deep that you forget that you ever felt anything different and then finally imagine those last shreds of humanity being ripped away and Dean becoming like me." With those words the Demon flicked his eyes changing them from yellow orbs to the classic Shiny black ones that most demons had._

_Sam tried to turn away but the Demon reached out and grabbed his face, holding it close. He moved closer until he was nearly toughing nose-to noise with Sam and his breath was caressing Sam's cheek and then he delivered the last line. It was the deal breaker, the last words to a perfect rebuttal that allowed no argument. "Imagine having to hunt down your own brother."_

_And then just like that the invisible force holding Sam restrained was taken away. He straightened up breathing heavily. All the demons were waiting, watching, expectant. There was nothing else left for Sam, no other option. Because Dean had already given enough for him. "I'll do it." The words left his mouth, leaving a poisonous taste on his tongue._

_"Excellent, Sammy. I knew you had it in you." The yellow-eyed Demon gestured and a woman stepped out from the circle holding a bowl. Azazel raised the sleeve to his short and pulled a knife from his pocket. Still staring at Sam as he did so, he made a long cut on his arm and let the dark blood fall into the chalice that was being held under him. _

_When the bowl was half-filled Azazel grabbed the bowl filled with steaming blood and carried it over to Sam. He raised it to Sam's lips. "Drink my child, and embrace who you are."_

_The hot blood touched his lips, and he unwillingly swallowed a mouthful of the thick liquid. As the liquid hit his tongue and trickled down his throat, he felt something changing. He tried to hold t back, but he found himself taking another mouthful and eagerly swallowing. He wanted to drink more. He felt power suffusing his body as the demon blood surged through him, he felt himself changing, becoming something else. And yet he could only think about one thing. "I'm sorry Dean." He whispered as he took another swallow of the crimson liquid. _

Sam gasped as he sat up from his nightmare. His shirt was sticking to his back and his hair was plastered to his head. He was still trying to catch his breath as he thought about the remnants of his dream. He was about to reach over to the bedside table of the cheap motel they were at and turn on the lamp, when he noticed Dean was fast asleep in the other bed. His hand froze in midair at his brother's still form.

He was reluctant to risk waking up his brother, by even the dim motel light. It was a rare sight to see Dean actually sleeping, usually Sam awoke in the middle of the night to either find him absent from their motel room probably off with a woman, sitting up staring into the distance, or trying desperately to get drunk enough that he could forget where he was going in a few months.

On the last instances Sam saw right through Dean's comments of "Want to join in Sam?" or laughing dismissal "Now, don't lecture me. I'm going to hell, so what's a little liver damage." No matter, how hard he tried Sam saw through it, Dean was scared. Scared of what was going to happen, of what he was going to become. That hurt Sam, more than anything. Because Dean shouldn't be the one that was scared. Dean was the person, who hunted creatures that would have made a normal person piss their pants in fright. He was the person who could stare death in the face and laugh.

Sam was the person who was scared. He was the tag-along who had nightmares after most of their hunts, even though he tried to hide them from his brother. Dean was the person who washed away his fears. Dean was the person who had saved him from everything ever since they were children. Except this time he had gone too far.

Maybe their father had raised them wrong. Or maybe they loved each other to much, but it hurt him much more than anything ever had to know that Dean was going to let himself go to the worse place there was and spend eternity in torment for him. It hurt him enough that he was willing to do anything to save his brother. He didn't tell Dean but he had already tried a lot of stuff.

He had went to the crossroads Demon and tried to make a deal. His life for Dean's soul, a straight switch, it hadn't worked. He had kneeled in the dusty road and stared the red-eyed woman in the face; he had placed the colt in her hand, and guided the metal to his head. He had begged, pleaded, bargained for her to just take him instead. And all he had gotten was a laugh. He had to admit it was mostly rage that had made him kill her after she had laughingly refused his offer with—"You'd have to offer a lot more than your death little Sammy to rescue Dean's soul, a lot more which I don't think you're willing to yet...so run along." Killing her might have been a bad idea, but Sam didn't look back. He had a mission and if it killed him he was going to save his brother. Or die trying, because if Dean was gone it wasn't worth living.

He had already lived through over 6 months without Dean when he had died permanently after a run-in with a trickster god. He had never felt worse as he had in that time. Every day was a dark quest for one thing and one thing only. And no matter how many times he exorcised demons, destroyed ghost or saved people, it wasn't about helping innocents, it was about seeking something: his own death.

He couldn't live without Dean, it was that simple. Because life without him wasn't living.

The chilling memory of his dream was still with him, but Sam was somewhat grateful for it because it gave him an idea. He finally understood a bit of what the crossroad demon was trying to tell him. There probably was somebody that he could make a deal with, but the cost would be higher than his death. It would be him, alive and turned into whatever kind of monster that Jake Talley and now, probably he was destined to become. But he would accept it. He would take on the curse and give in to the evil that he already knew was inside of him. He would become something that his brother would have to eventually hunt down and kill. He knew it was selfish to think like that after Dean had given his life for him. But then again it had been selfish what Dean had done. If one of them had to become something that they both knew they would never want to live as then Sam wanted it to be him. Finally after all these years of taking care of him, he could repay Dean, just a little.

Still, that didn't mean he wasn't going to try his hardest to keep both their souls intact and get out of the deal. Sam stood up being carefully that he didn't trip into something or make too much noise on the creaky floorboards that Dean would wake up. He padded, to the small desk in the corner and flicked on a light. He started up his laptop and began reading. He had work to do. There were only a few months, and Sam had work to do.

It was the early hours of the morning when Dean stirred and then groaned. Sam had long ago closed up the laptop and was staring blankly at Dean. He couldn't sleep, and he had once again hit a dead end in his research. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, and his hands were shaking from fatigue.

Dean yawned widely and set up, his first action after sitting up was to glace over to Sam's now empty bed. Sam saw the panicked look that quickly crossed his face, before it was replaced by a look of determined concentration. Before Dean could leap out the bed and search for him or call out his name, Sam said. "I'm right here Dean."

Dean's gaze snapped toward the sound of the noise and Sam watched him sigh and relax. He scrutinized his little brother and noting the tell-tale signs of sleep. "You've been staying up all night again?"

"Not really, I just got up an hour or two before you."

Dean saw right though the comment. "Anybody ever tell you that you make a piss-poor liar Sam?"

"I—"

Dean didn't even give Sam a chance to try again. "What were you up doing?" He scanned the desk covered with titles of _Spectres of the Deep, Hell Uncovered, Death Omens, Pacts with the cursed_. "God-damn you've been at it again haven't you?"

Dean stood up and moved toward Sam until he was standing over him. "How many times do I have to tell you Sam? This is over Sam. I'm not letting you throw away your life for mine." Dean softened at his brother's expression. "Sam, I can't let you go through with anything that's going to make your life forfeit. I've spent my whole life watching over you, I can't let that come to nothing Sam, I can't."

"Dean—I-" Sam nearly choked on the words and felt his eyes burning. He glanced away from Dean and felt his brother punch him playfully on the shoulder.

"No chick flick moments dude, Give a dying man this last wish huh?"

Then Dean was gone, padding off to their tiny motel to grab a shower and Sam was left staring after him.

He thought about what Sam had said. _ I've spent my whole life watching over you._

What Dean didn't get was it was Sam's turn to repay the favour. It was the one goal that he couldn't afford to fail at and whatever he had to do he was going to succeed.

* * *

_Reviews are welcome, so love it hate it, neutral? Tell me otherwise I won't know. And just so you know this story really is finished now. _


End file.
